No tears for the dead
by margisama
Summary: Set within Romero's dead series with no specified date or timeframe. put it in Dawn because there wasn't a category for Night or Day : Genevieve Bloughton is just like any other survivor trying to get by in a world overrun by the walking dead, with one v


No one knew what had set things in motion, they knew only what the ultimate result of that unknown trigger had been; to the world and the people who had once inhabited it. She'd been far from television and radios when the end had arrived, and hadn't been privy to what she assumed must have been frantic news bulletins and evacuation orders. Sometimes when boredom set in-and boredom had, unfortunately, become her most frequent state of mind-she mulled over what sorts of theories and hypotheses the educated elite had put forth during those first few weeks to explain what was happening around them. Radiation, biological or chemical warfare, a natural virus…those were a few of the possible explanations that she thought seemed the most reasonable, but then again, people probably hadn't been satisfied with a reasonable explanation. What rational, natural process could cause the dead to return to life anyway?

Knowing the number of conspiracy theorists out there, she wouldn't have been surprised if more eccentric causes had been suggested as panic and desperation sat in. The religious fundamentalists had probably had a field-day before they'd been forced to worry about their own survival. In a way, she was grateful she hadn't had to deal with any of that- people ranting about it being God's punishment on a sinful world or the sci-fi crazies spouting equally ludicrous theories about hostile aliens causing the chaos so they could take over the world while humanity was distracted.

In truth, she supposed it really didn't matter how' it had all started in the first place. Things were the way they were, and crying about it would be about as useless as sitting down and having an empty debate about the hows and whys of everything.

The faint chirping of birds distracted her from her thoughts then, and she lifted her head to gaze out the partially broken window she'd been crouching behind for what must have been several hours. The light filtering in from the outside world perked her interest, as well as the faint mist rising from the pavement. It had been dark when she'd broken into the building, and raining, but now it seemed the rain was over.

Might as well move on since the sun was up, she decided, rising to her feet and ignoring the creaking of her stiff limbs. She'd long since discovered that it was safer to travel during the day; there was far more of a chance of having a dangerous encounter at night, and she'd always liked to think of herself as a practical person-at least most of the time…there had' been an instance or two when she'd demonstrated less than-impeccable intellect, but it wasn't like it was anything she could fix 'now'.

Sighing, she pulled open the battered door, pausing only a moment to cast a brief glance over one shoulder. Not like abandoned hardware stores were luxury accommodations anyway.

Leaving her temporary shelter behind, she made her way deeper into what once had been a small, pleasant-looking town in the northeastern united states. She was relatively sure she was somewhere in upstate new York, but thusfar hadn't come to a town she was familiar with; having originally been from Massachusetts herself.

Rather depressing if you stopped and allowed yourself to think about it for too long, the notion crossed her mind as she walked down the middle of what used to be the main street through the quaint hamlet. Granted, it was somewhat nice not to have to worry about being ran over by a speeding car or being forced to listen to the raucous, rude honking of irritated motorists, but if the trade-off for that convenience and peace was the empty streets littered with discarded newspapers and abandoned vehicles, and the rows of forlorn shops forever waiting for shoppers who were probably never coming back- she wasn't sure it was worth it, not at all.

Abruptly, she came to a halt; nostrils flaring as she took in a scent that seemed out of place in the empty-seeming town. Amid the fresh, clean smell of lingering rain and the first few flowers of spring that were already beginning to come up between the cracks of the ruined sidewalks, there was a taint of something nature had never produced-gunpowder.

Suddenly on the alert, she chose her steps more cautiously now, moving off of the main street and keeping to the sides of the deserted buildings should the need to seek cover present itself. Pressing on, albeit at a slightly slower pace, she continued her journey through the settlement. Eventually she detected faint sounds coming from an alleyway a few meters ahead, and she paused; gaze drifting downwards once she'd reached her impulsive destination.

Rainwater had flowed out of the narrow space between two shops and formed a decent-sized puddle at the junction of two stretches of sidewalk, but the glistening fluid was not the clear, transparent color it should have normally been, it was clouded with ribbons of dull red, and particles of larger, thicker things.

The sounds became more distinct as she pondered the unsettling sight of the scarlet-tinged water, and when she lifted and turned her head in order to glance down into the alley, a part of her deep inside knew what she would see before she even completed the motion.

The storm of the night before had apparently not been enough of a deterrent to the raiding party; the remnants of which lay before her now. Two, perhaps three men- though it was hard to get a completely reliable estimate simply by observing the mutilated remains that a much larger group was currently occupying themselves with. A balding man who seemed to have been in his late forties at death possessively clutched a severed arm to his chest as he chewed on the half-eaten wrist; giving a growling sound of warning as another of the pack seemed a little too interested in his prize.

There were six or seven others besides the two squabblers, crouched over the flayed open torso of one of the once-living scavengers, so many in fact that it was rather impressive that they'd somehow managed to navigate the narrow alley and find enough room for all of them. A black woman in her early thirties, a red-haired girl who'd probably been around nine years old, a teenage boy with blood-stained sand-colored curls; whatever prejudices they might have possessed when breath filled their lungs had long since dissipated, and they fed with relative harmony in each others' presence, only showing a hint of what might have been called aggression or displeasure when another tried to take a particularly choice morsel they had been reaching for themselves.

The acrid smell of gunpowder was stronger here amid the coppery, sewer-like stench of exposed bowels and viscera. A battered rifle lay discarded just outside the mouth of the alley, and a few feet in lay the unmoving hulks of the two revenants the now-dead men had managed to bring down before apparently being cornered in the alley and overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of the undead. These two were never going to get up and walk again, she mused, glancing at the half-shattered skull of one and the bullet-pierced forehead of the other. Reaching down, she took the gun in her hands and checked it, finding it empty of ammunition. How desperate for supplies must they have been to have chanced a night-time raid with so little in the way of weapons, she wondered inwardly as she tossed the now-useless gun back to the bloodied ground. Maybe they'd thought the storm would have covered their movements, but when trying to evade hunters who didn't need to worry about exposure or the other dangers that their living counterparts were faced with, their decision had been brave at best, outright stupid at worst.

And very much unsuccessful in the end as well, she mused with a weary sort of resignation, eyeing the garish remains that were too badly mutilated to ever rise again. The gory sight of the dismembered corpses the restless dead were still consuming no longer made her retch like it had in the beginning, but it didn't mean she enjoyed such a macabre spectacle either. It was just an unpleasant fact of existence she'd been forced to accept if she wanted to continue on herself with her sanity still intact.

The messily occupied undead were taking no notice of her, but the thudding slam of a door she hadn't yet noticed, set into the side of one of the alleyway buildings only two or three feet away- brought her to sudden and complete attention. At first glance, one might have thought the man stumbling out into the early morning sunlight was a miraculous survivor of the ill-fated scavenging party; his clothes for the most part were clean and undamaged, and his flesh lacked the grayish pallor to it that many of the others in the alley possessed. But that first impression was incredibly misleading. Clearly, he had' been a survivor, at least of the initial strike that had reduced his companions to the morning meal.

He'd apparently tried a final desperate measure and had broken into the side entrance of a small fabric store to seek shelter from the death that had closed in from behind him. His pursuers had not followed him- perhaps they'd been content with the bounty his less fortunate companions had provided. But he hadn't escaped completely unscathed himself. As he emerged fully into the light, she saw the torn sleeve of his shirt and the gaping wound on his left arm; the flesh torn by blunt, once-human teeth that hadn't been designed to rip into struggling prey. The bite, as nasty-looking as it was, by itself wouldn't have been enough to end his life had it come from a natural creature or a living human, but even the tiniest of nips from the walking dead was enough to infect, and the former survivor had probably died sometime before dawn; his narrow escape proving ultimately futile in the end.

Dull brown eyes that held a glazed, unfocused look to them turned her way; the blank expression of the newly reanimated man seeming to study her for a moment before turning aside in obvious disinterest; the sounds of the feeding further down the alley drawing his attention as he stumbled towards them to join in; bloodying his mouth on the remaining flesh and tissue of what could have been his friends or even members of his own family only a few short hours before.

Feeling not so much disgusted as disheartened, she turned her back on the gory tableau and left the alley behind, continuing on into the town now that she had discovered the source of the gunpowder. Her own clothes had seen better days, and it was that fact that guided her steps into a second-hand clothing store. No one, living or previously dead, challenged her as she entered the unlocked shop, and she was free to browse the racks as she would have been back in her own hometown- before civilization had crumbled and the laws of nature itself had turned upside down.

Finding a pair of jeans and a simple green blouse that matched her size, she changed in the middle of the store- not seeing much point in hiding herself in one of the fitting booths since there was little to no chance of anyone coming into the store to view or be offended by her lack of modesty, at least, no one who would care about or probably even understand what she was doing. And if the would-be gawker had still had a heartbeat, she doubted they would have wanted to watch her undress anyway, given her condition.

Oh, not that she looked like some of the outright horrors she'd seen during her travels south… as she finished fastening her jeans she straightened up to begin the tedious process of buttoning up her new shirt; casting a reluctant glance in the floor-length mirror that sat propped up against the wall just in front of her. Her shoulder-length brown hair was slightly wavy but otherwise non-descript, her features clean and well-placed enough to make her pretty, though no stunning beauty. There were no dramatic wounds or mutilations marring her slender form; a little too skinny even from before, no missing limbs or exposed bones to provide a blatant give-away of what she had become. There were a few small scratches here and there, but those had been caused by the branches and underbrush she had apparently staggered through during those first early days.

The eyes that met her gaze in the mirror were remarkably clear and lucid; a pale blue that seemed no different than the eyes of the transformed survivor in the alley must have once looked. But there was a drawn look to her features that set her appearance…off, and her skin was just a little too pale to be healthy, or natural. And if one were to look closely enough at her, they would soon notice something else that didn't seem right about the young woman…namely, the fact that she didn't breath as she finished the menial task of putting her new clothes on and gave her reflection one final, cursory glance before turning to make her way out of the abandoned store.

Yes, even though some quirk of fate or cruelty of the divine had left twenty-two year old Genevieve Bloughton as quick-witted and morally conscious as she'd been before the world had gone to hell, she was still as physically dead as the revenants gorging on the repulsive feast in the alley only a few blocks away.

…


End file.
